


Lost in Memory

by FayeOfTheForest



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayeOfTheForest/pseuds/FayeOfTheForest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has become king. Finally.<br/>But instead of being content he finds himself constantly lost in memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I'm an epic procrastinator. This will take time.

** Prologue **

 

Ice crunched under his boots as he walked through the frozen kingdom, where the giant king lay dead on the ground and it’s blood ran dark down the spear Gungnir’s side and red droplets spattered his sealskin shoes. The world was all but conquered, the palace overrun and the Casket in the hands of the men who walked behind him. His kingsguard.

They were walking up a steep slope on a narrow, but well paved trail that lead up a barren hillside not far behind the palace. He had been about to give the order to turn back - to take their victory and return through the gateway with most of his men.

But then, with the battle over, the jotun either dead, dying or on the run into the backlands where the aesir could not follow, the world had finally been quiet enough that he had detected it; the thing that had had his hair standing up on the back of his neck since the moment he had walked through the bifrost.

A thrum of power, pulsating and strong, ran like an trail of electricity through the air. As easy to sense as a wave of water to a mage, he felt it rippling outwards from one central point - the jagged hilltop.

So up and up the trail they went. It was nearly like a small mountain in it’s shape; the peculiar black rock was hard and sharp and untouched on each side of them. Only the path was smoothed out and cobbled.

It certainly must have seemed like a mountain to his men, who’s land was largely flat and green and soft. Odin knew better though, he had seen Midgard and Alfheim and Nidavellir, and all had mountains larger than what was even fathomable to the average aesir.

Just as the top seemed to come near, they were attacked. Nine jotuns came charging down on them, screaming and hacking at them futilely. They were outnumbered at least three to one, but they didn’t even seem to consider surrender. Their eyes looked feral and wild in their big, alien faces and their mouths were sneering as they slashed and stabbed. It was a desperate fight and they all ended up dead, but not without dragging five of his men with them. It irritated Odin even as it interested him, for even such monsters as they shouldn’t have been able to do such a thing. The Aesir had every advantage - superior numbers, superior weapons, superior shielding and the advantage of not being trapped up on a hilltop with no way down but through a sea of enemies.

They stepped over their bloodied, unbreathing forms and they finally reached the top. It was a plateau shaped straight out of the rock - a flat circular balcony which contained a series of tiny platforms, only about a square meter across each and decorated with stone carvings. Rings upon rings of them stretched out from the middle, but only some were in use.

Merely babes they were, the jotuns who laid there, helpless on their backs. Some squalled, some seemed to sleep, and one…

Odin signalled to his men to halt and went forth alone to the central platform. The one who laid there was awake, looking at Odin with an uncomprehending frown stuck to his small blue face. He was noticeably smaller than the other babes, so fragile looking, but it was still obvious that this was he. The one who was so powerful it thrummed in Odin’s ears as strong as the boom of the drums the giants of Muspelheim sounded.

He should kill him, he knew - but found himself reluctant. Leaving it untouched was obviously out of the question, but killing something with this much power seemed like a great waste.

Odin stood there silent for some time, staring at the little creature who only stared harder back, it’s red eyes glistening in the starlight. It looked defiant, not understanding how weak and defenceless it was. How easily he could squash it’s throat like a bug.

With a silent sigh Odin picked the babe up and cloaked him from sight and sense, pulling him beneath his thick fur coat. Then he turned and started descending the trail again, his men shifting to let him pass. «Take care of them» he ordered and walked on, heedless to the skull piercing shrieks that rose up behind him.

 


	2. 1

Chapter 1

It had not been for his throne that Loki had killed Odin, but he had thought it would taste sweet to sit on it, to see people who loathed him kneel before his feet. And those first days it had been quite lovely. Thor attempting his hardest to appear dutiful; Fandal, Volstagg and Sif gagged in silent reverence; the Great Council scurrying to obey his every command - it all tasted very sweet.

But the savour decreased every day and a couple of months into his reign Loki was sick and tired of being the Allfather. It was not that he found the work too challenging or boring. Even though the endless political manouvering was a tedium, Loki found he enjoyed it and he found a certain pleasure in trying to build Asgard into something better. Sitting in Odin’s study with his manifestos and court transcripts and Borr’s dusty old journal in front of him he finally felt he saw it all - all the little untruths he had been brought to swallow whole as a child untangling before his eyes.

He had always thought he would do a better job as king than his brother, always wanted to rule and still he had a wish to prove his worth to Asgard by bettering it, but he did not like to be Odin. Every action he took as he wore Odin’s skin was attributed to the old tyrant meanwhile Loki was loathed even in death.

That bristled, angering him to the point of bloodlust, to the point of considering leaving Asgard behind all together. Every time he came to that point though, there was a voice in the back of his mind protesting; __You killed their king, so it must fall to you to bring them order__.

Loki felt as though he had been caught in a trap of his own making, and at night he dreamt of cold stone, the echoing sound of running water. Of choking on poison.

 

***

 

The air felt warm and humid as Loki stepped into the soft grass below the apple trees. His shape was that of a young boy with tousled black hair, brown eyes and a common peasant’s face, unremarkable to see in the fields of the Alfather’s farmlands.

If he had not been wholly mistaken the door he had opened would have led him to a spot just behind the royal Summer Hall. Loki walked a few steps through the brush till he saw the shape of the castle grow in the distance, then turned and walked along it’s perimeter until he came upon the lake and the familiar little jetty. It was autumn and the water had grown cold, but that did not bother him. Discarding his clothes on the planks he dove into the green, graceful as a swan.

He swam along the bottom of the lake, looking for forgotten treasures just as he had loved to do in childhood. He found countless gold coins, a couple unmatching gem stone ear pieces and a diadem adorned with seed pearls, but the crown jewel he found among the rushes at the far side of the lake - a longsword of patterned steel with a gilded hilt and a large ruby set in it’s pommel.

He retrieved it and laid it on the jetty before diving in again, becoming a fish and a swan and a merchild in turn before finally hauling himself up onto the wooden platform again, lying back to stare up at the blue, blue sky, daydreaming of times long past.

Turning his face he could almost see him there, splashing in the water, his long blonde hair plastered to his head and his eyes full of laughter. They had wrestled and fought and had little tourneys in this lake. Thor always won, of course. At the time Loki had not even thought bettering his brother at something to be possible.

The last time he had been sitting exactly here, Loki remembered, abruptly pulling himself up to a seat. __Dangling my legs over the surface and raising bubbles of water up into the air__.   

He ate the cheese and olives he had brought with him and was about to start dressing again when he heard the rustle of leaves somewhere behind him. It was an old man, still strong, but grey bearded and hunched.

The boy waved at him and watched as the man scowled. “This ain’t no place for such as you, boy. Summer Hall is only for them children with royal blood”

“Sorry, m’lord. I’m going, m’lord” Loki told him and swiftly pulled on his clothes.

“What was that I saw glittering by you, boy?”

“Why, nothing m’lord”

“Don’t think you can play me for a fool, boy. I saw...” The old man had come close enough to see that what he saw had been nothing. He frowned. “Well, you shouldn’t be here anyhow. Come along now, boy” He moved to grip Loki’s shoulder.

Loki cringed away from the old man’s hand. “ _ _Don’t touch me__ ”

The old man blinked, “Oh, of course not. Well, come along then”

They walked along the forest path together, the old man staring into the distance and the boy picking his way carefully so not as to trip and skewer himself on the glimmering sword he held in his right hand.

“You’re the game keeper, Luwen was it?”

“Yes” the old man replied vacantly.

“Do you remember the last time the crown prince stayed at Summer Hall, Luwen?”

“T’was a long while ago. When the other one was still gone travelling. He brought his three companions and a whole horde of lordlings and little ladies. Such a racket. The late queen came too. She came to the water every day”

“What did she do there?”

“She watched the children bathe and she wrote. Usually she ate oranges. Sometimes she cried”

“What kind of thing did she write?”

“Dunno. Could of been letters, could of been a manuscript”

Once the old game keeper had walked him to the point where the forest path melted into the avenue coming down from the castle, Loki turned to him.

“I think I can find the way back myself now”

“There’s a locked gate” the old man said.

“But they’ll let me through, won’t they?”

“’Course”

Luwen started back up the avenue, with not a glance behind him and Loki gazed a moment at the spires of the lovely Summer Hall before straightening up, gathering his energy and stepping through an invisible door into a dusty inn room in the golden city.    

 

 

 

 

 

  


End file.
